


Dinner?

by sporadic_obsession



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29436744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporadic_obsession/pseuds/sporadic_obsession
Summary: Atsumu gets home from spending the day with his brother and niece, and finds himself with various troubled thoughts.For SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021Day 1: Domestic / First Times / “My heart isn’t beating faster, my heart isn’t beating faster, I swear it isn’t, get ahold of yourself.”
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	Dinner?

**Author's Note:**

> Alright folks, today I bring you... fluff! Or as much fluff as you can fit into these two loveable idiots, for now.  
> I wasn’t gonna participate in this but then I had to wake up at 8am to go to work and I just... it just struck me. Sakuatsu have me by the throat.
> 
> If you wanna scream at me about this, you can find me on [twitter here](https://twitter.com/sprdc_obssn)!

Atsumu is stuck outside his front door. Which is—if he’s honest with himself—extremely ridiculous. He shouldn’t be hesitating when he’s trying to walk into his own home. It’s  _ his _ home, after all; why should he be so scared to put the key to the door and walk in? No, not scared; that’s not exactly it. In fact, Atsumu is eager to walk in and wash off the day’s grime—Osamu’s daughter was a devil to him that day—but he’s also nervous. Yes, nervous is a good word, he tells himself as he plays with the keyring he’s been given at one point or another; his hesitance comes only from simple nerves, because he’s been away all day playing with his twin’s baby girl, and he’s tired and sleepy and—

The door swings open.

Oh, right. Sakusa just moved in yesterday, too.

“Are you going to stand there all day, Miya?”

It’s a weird feeling, having someone to come home to. Especially when said person is his prickliest teammate, Sakusa Kiyoomi. It’s not like Atsumu dislikes the guy—quite the contrary—but the knowledge that, now, whenever he comes home from training or wherever he’s dragged to by Osamu he will end up sharing the space with Sakusa is… jarring. Atsumu is used to living by himself, to prance around his apartment with ease, and with no regard for anyone else’s own needs and limitations; it’s  _ his _ space. And although Atsumu usually doesn’t care for what people think of him, regardless of place and time, it’s been his little safe haven for a while now.

He’s still trying to figure out why exactly he decided to volunteer into sharing it with Sakusa.

Well. He knows  _ why _ , theoretically - Sakusa’s lease was about to expire and his landlord wasn’t willing to renew it—for reasons beyond Atsumu’s understanding—and the spiker was having trouble finding a new place to stay. When Sakusa mentioned it briefly during training, Atsumu and his big mouth had just simply  _ offered _ to let him stay at his place, because his spare room wasn’t being used either way, right? And he totally didn’t think Sakusa would take him up—because he’s Sakusa Kiyoomi after all—but when the other man said yes to his offer, he couldn’t just take it back, right?

So, now, here he stands - face to face with someone he wouldn’t consider exactly a friend—they fight way too often for that—but also not an enemy—because Atsumu likes him way too much for that—on what used to be Atsumu’s doorstep, but now it’s  _ their _ doorstep. And that’s the crux of the problem in the end, isn’t it? Atsumu is having a hard time adjusting because he’s always had some sort of lingering fondness for Sakusa, even back in high school, and now he gets to share a home with him, and he knows it will be a disaster, but he can’t simply tell him to get out, because he’s selfish enough to want the other man around.

That, and Sakusa has nowhere else to go.

They’ve been at this standstill for a few minutes too long, now, and Atsumu feels heat crawl up his neck and show on his face as the keys he was playing with just a second ago fall unceremoniously to the ground. That seems to be the catalyst to get the two of them moving - Sakusa steps aside to allow Atsumu into the apartment while the setter crouches down to catch his keys before he walks in. It’s almost like a synchronized routine in which they avoid each other like professional dancers. Once Atsumu is finally inside, he almost breathes in relief, but just as he inhaled he smells something undoubtedly  _ delicious _ cooking and his brain comes to a halt. He looks at Sakusa once again and notices he’s wearing an apron—a frilly pink apron with little red hearts on it—and his hands are covered with black latex gloves, hair tucked back with small hair clips with little heart designs on them. It’s downright unfair how adorable he looks, and how much it reminds Atsumu of how his mother greeted his father back when they were younger. He feels himself blush once again, and his breath is still held, and he can hear the rush in his heartbeat as it hums loudly in his head.

“ _ My heart isn’t beating faster, my heart isn’t beating faster, I swear it isn’t, get ahold of yourself. _ ”

No matter how much he thinks it, his heart still feels like it’s trying to fly out of his chest. He finds himself blinking owlishly at his teammate—his years-old crush, if he dares admit it—trying to find the words to break the awkward silence that has settled between them. Sakusa doesn’t offer him a reprieve, either; he stares back with one eyebrow quirked up into his forehead, dark eyes narrowed as he looks back at Atsumu as if he’s the weird one.

It’s almost funny how his expression contrasts the apron and hair clips he’s wearing.

“Go shower, Miya. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Atsumu doesn’t find it in himself to reply—not even to question why Sakusa thinks he can order him around—and simply gives a curt nod, thoughts still too jumbled for much else. He puts his keys down on the small bowl by the door—and his heart definitely flips when he notices how Sakusa’s keys are there already—and lowers himself to a crouch so he can remove his shoes and exchange them for the house slippers that belong to him, trying not to make a pained sound at how domestic it feels to tuck his pair of sneakers into an open space next to where Sakusa’s own shoes are. He collects himself as best as he can and makes the trek down the hall and to his room to retrieve a change of clothes, and off he goes to shower, just like he’s been told to. He pretends he’s doing it for himself, and not because Sakusa asked him to, but he can’t fool his own heart, no matter how much he tries to.

After his shower, he feels a lot calmer. The spray of the water over his head helped clear the mess inside of it, and once he’s dry and dressed, his heart has stopped trying to somersault out of his ribcage. That’s not to say he doesn’t startle, still, when he spots Sakusa setting down food for the two of them on the kitchen counter—there’s three high stools behind the island counter, and Atsumu would’ve thought he’d leave a stool between them, but of course Sakusa has to sit them side by side—especially when he notices the candle lit between their set places. There is no explanation for this, and all the peacefulness Atsumu found in the shower instantly disappears, turning into fog that clouds his rational thoughts once more. He’s stuck by the kitchen door, looking between the counter and Sakusa, and it’s too much, all at once.

“W-what’s all this?” His voice trembles, and he hates himself for it, but there’s no taking it back.

“Dinner?” Sakusa looks back at him as if he’s insane, his expression as stony as it usually is, but now there’s no mask hiding half of it and—

Oh, Atsumu is  _ so _ fucked.

“I see…” The setter still isn’t sure what’s going on—his head is back to square one, nothing makes sense anymore—but he forces himself to walk towards the stools, sitting on the one to the left. “Ya didn’t have to cook for the both of us.”

“Ah. It’s the least I could do,” Sakusa replies, and there’s a certain warmth to his tone that Atsumu can’t ignore.

He watches Sakusa take off his gloves and throw them in the trash bin before he removes his apron and, oh, he’s wearing such nice clothes underneath—a black turtleneck paired with beige fitted trousers—and Atsumu feels almost underdressed in the black jeans he tugged on after his shower which he paired with a white wool sweater because he’s thinking of heading back out later; he didn’t put much effort into how he looks because he knows he looks good regardless, but Sakusa has a watch on his wrist and his hair is carefully styled. It Atsumu had to take a guess, he’d say this is an outfit one would reserve for a date.

_ Oh _ .

“Hm. Ya going out after dinner?” He asks casually, eyes following Sakusa as he crosses the distance until he’s sitting right next to him, eyebrow once again arched high on his forehead.

“No. Why?”

“Oh. Ya just… ya look nice.” Atsumu wants to take the words back immediately—because he  _ definitely _ didn’t mean to say  _ that _ —but it’s too late, so he tries to save himself instead. “I mean! Ya look like yer dressed to impress. Like yer goin’ on a date or somethin’.”

“Well. It  _ is _ Valentine’s Day. Or so Motoya says.” Atsumu watches Sakusa reach for a glass he’s filled with white wine, taking a sip of the near-clear liquid before he puts the crystal glass back down. “There’s no way I’d go out today. Too many people.”

“Ah, ‘course…”

Atsumu almost slaps himself on the forehead at the reminder. There’s no way Sakusa would want to go out when everyone’s already flooding the streets and restaurants, trying to impress people they probably won’t be with in a couple of months. 

“I hope dinner at home is sufficient for a valentine’s date.”

The world screeches to a half inside Atsumu’s head, not for the first time this evening. His arm stops where it was reaching for his own glass of wine, suspended in mid-air as his head swivels slowly so he can look more directly at the side of Sakusa’s face. The other’s expression is impenetrable—as if he hasn’t just dropped a bomb on Atsumu—but there’s a faint color to the high of his cheekbones that can’t be disguised, especially since he’s so pale. Atsumu can’t look away, lips parted in surprise as he stares at Sakusa, the words he wants to say stuck behind his tongue, too difficult to form. He tries to get Sakusa to explain further—he needs further explanation so his brain will resume its usual activity—but the man isn’t budging - he simply looks at Atsumu with that damned raised eyebrow, and Atsumu is done for.

“Omi,” the setter calls, and the word feels heavy on his lips; he sweeps his tongue over them because they feel much too dry, and doesn’t miss the way Sakusa’s eyes flicker to the motion. “Is this- are  _ we _ on a date?”

“Well. I thought it was fairly obvious,” Sakusa replies, and although the infliction of his tone is the same as it has always been, Atsumu can hear the faint defensiveness that lags behind it.

“Omi! Ya should’a warned me. I didn’t- is this ‘cause I offered ya a place to stay? Ya don’t have to do  _ this _ to pay me back or whatever, I-”

“I’m not.” This time, Sakusa’s tone changes as his lips set into a frown, and Atsumu has a desperate need to poke at the point between his pinched eyebrows where the skin pudges slightly. “Miya. How clueless can you be? Why do you think I only ever bicker with you? Why do you think I accepted your offer? Do you believe I’d simply move in with any of our other teammates, or buy them expensive watches for their birthday?” As Atsumu finds himself gaping once again, Sakusa presses on, his fingertip poking the center of one of his cheeks. “Miya. You look like a complete idiot right now.”

The words register in Atsumu’s head as an insult, but the warmth in Sakusa’s tone is back, and his gaze has softened so softly, it’s almost like—

“Wait. Are ya flirtin’ with me?”

“Have been for the past year, thank you for noticing.”

“ _ Omi! _ ”

Atsumu deflates completely, then—shoulders hunched, head hung low, pout on his lips—as the realization makes his brain kickstart once more. He thinks back to the many times he’s shared a seat with Sakusa at random team outings and how he’s always been cautious to not overstep the man’s boundaries; how he has brushed off soft presses of his fingers against Atsumu’s shoulder as accidents, and how he’s misread various teasing remarks from the outside hitter as challenges. It’s all finally aligning inside his head, and as he looks up at his teammate—not an enemy, not quite a friend, but perhaps something more—he finds himself smiling fondly.

“‘Kay, Omi, I’ll let ya have this. But I get to plan the next date,” Atsumu says, and his smile only widens when he spots the blush back on Sakusa’s cheeks.

“Seems agreeable.” Sakusa looks away from Atsumu’s face, but the setter can still see the hint of a smile on the hitter’s lips. “Can we eat now? You’re delaying our first date, Miya.”

“Sure thing, Omi-kun.”


End file.
